Эрл Гарднер - The Case of the Reluctant Model

“How long before you can fix things up with Olney?”

“I shall call on Olney right away,” Rankin said, “and I’ll get George Lathan Howell, the noted art expert, to appraise the painting and—”

“Whoa, back up,” Mason interrupted. “You don’t get anybody to appraise anything until we are ready to release the newspaper publicity. That is why I asked you if you were sure the painting was genuine. If there is any room for doubt, we’re going to have to handle things in another way. In a deal of this sort we have to fit our strategy to the facts.”

“You may rest assured the painting is a genuine Feteet,” Rankin said.

“Now there’s one other point,” Mason said. “We have to prove Durant said the painting was spurious.”

“But I told you about that. Maxine came to me. I have it direct from her own lips.”

“Send her to me,” Mason said. “I want to tie her up with an affidavit. You can imagine what a fix we’d be in if we started all this newspaper publicity and then fell down on our proof. Durant would then have you in a trap.

“To date, our only witness is Maxine Lindsay. We have to be certain we can depend on her.”

“We can depend on her with our lives,” Rankin said.

“You can get her to come in to the office here and give us aa affidavit?” Mason asked.

“I’m certain of it.”

“How soon?”

“Any time you say.”

“Within an hour?”

“Well... right after lunch. How will that do?”

“That’s okay,” Mason told him. “You get in touch with Otto Olney. See how he feels about the situation, suggest that he file suit, and—”

“And retain you?” Rankin asked.

“Heavens, no,” Mason said. “He’s got his own lawyers. Let him instruct them to file the suit. I’ll arrange the behind-the-scenes strategy, and that’s all. You pay me for my advice, Olney pays his lawyers for filing the suit, and Durant pays in damages for trying to undermine the value of a painting — and the resultant publicity will build up your reputation all the more.”

Rankin said, “Mr. Mason, I am going to insist on making that check in an amount of a thousand dollars, and thank heaven I had the good sense to come to you rather than some attorney who would have let me tell him what I wanted him to do.”

Rankin filled out the check, handed it to Della Street, shook hands with Mason and strode from the office.

Mason grinned at Della Street. “Now then, take that damned picture down and put it back in the storeroom,” he said.

It was one-thirty in the afternoon when Della said, “Your witness is out in the other office, Chief.”

“Witness?” Mason asked.

“The one on the spurious painting.”

“Oh,” Mason said, “the young woman whom Durant was trying to impress by telling her Olney’s painting was a phoney. I want to see if she’ll stand up in court, so let’s have a look at her, Della.”

“I’ve already looked at her.”

“How does she stack up?”

Della’s eyes twinkled. “She stacks.”

“How old?”

“Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.”

“Blonde, brunette, redhead?”

“Blonde.”

“Let’s have a look,” Mason said.

“Coming right up,” Della Street told him, and left for the outer office to return in a moment with a very blue-eyed blonde who smiled somewhat diffidently.

“Maxine Lindsay,” Della Street said, “and this is Mr. Mason, Miss Lindsay.”

“How do you do?” she said, coming forward and giving him her hand with a quick, impulsive gesture. “I’ve heard so much about you, Mr. Mason! When Mr. Rankin told me I was to see you I could hardly believe it.”

“I’m very pleased to meet you,” Mason said. “Now, do you know why you’re here, Miss Lindsay?”

“On account of Mr. Durant?”

“That’s right,” Mason said. “Would you care to tell me about it?”

“You mean about the forged Feteet?”

“Was it forged?”

“Mr. Durant said it was.”

“All right,” Mason said, “would you mind sitting down in that chair, Miss Lindsay, and recounting the conversation?”

She dropped into the chair, smiled at Della Street, smoothed her dress, said, “Where shall I begin?”

“When was it?”

“A week ago.”

“Where?”

“On Mr. Olney’s yacht.”

“You’re a friend of his?”

“In a way.”

“And Durant?”

“He was there.”

“A friend of Olney’s?”

“Well,” she said, “perhaps I’d better explain. It was sort of an artists’ party.”

“Olney is an artist?”

“No, he likes artists. He likes art. He likes to talk art. He likes to discuss pictures.”

“And he buys them?”

“Sometimes.”

“But he doesn’t paint?”

“No, he’d like to but he can’t. He has good ideas but poor talent.”

“And you’re an artist?”

“I’d like to be. I’ve had a little success with some of my pictures.”

“And that’s how you knew Mr. Olney?”

Her eyes met Mason’s frankly. “No,” she said, “I don’t think that’s the reason he invited me.”

“Why did he invite you?” Mason asked. “A personal interest?”

“Not in that way,” she said. “I’ve done some modeling. He met me when I was posing for one of the artists. I did pretty good at modeling until I became a little... well, a little busty. So then I decided I’d go in for art.”

“Does being busty disqualify you as a model?” Mason asked. “In the depths of my ignorance I thought it was the other way around.”

She smiled. “Photographers like big busts; artists, as a rule, like a delicacy of figure. I began to lose out on the high-class artist modeling and I wasn’t going to pose for the cheaper photographic work. The high-class photographer is even more choosy than the artist.”

“So you took up painting?” Mason asked.

“Of a sort, yes.”

“You’re making a living at it?”

“Of a sort, yes.”

“You hadn’t done any painting before?” Mason asked. “Any art school or—?”

“It’s not that kind of painting,” she said. “I do portraits.”

“I thought that took quite a bit of training,” Mason said.

“Not the way I do it. I take a photograph, a low-key photograph, blow it up to twenty-two by twenty-eight, and just barely print it. I have it so the image is only plain enough to serve as a guide. Then I go over this image with transparent paint. Then, with that as a base, I use oils to make a finished portrait. I’ve been rather successful.”

“But Olney was more interested in your—”

She smiled. “I think he was interested in my attitude toward art and... well, toward posing.”

“And what’s the attitude?” Mason asked.

“If you’re going to pose,” she said, “why not be frank about it? I never did have any personal hypocrisy and... well, anyway, one time when I was modeling I got to talking with Mr. Olney about his philosophy of life and my philosophy of life... He’d dropped in to see the artist — and the next thing I knew I was invited to one of his parties.”

“That was when the painting was discussed?”

“Oh, no, that was later, a week ago.”

“All right, now tell us about that party. You were talking with Durant?”

“Yes.”

“He was telling you about Olney’s paintings?”

“Not about Olney’s paintings. He was discussing art dealers.”

“And did he discuss Lattimer Rankin?”

“That was the one he was primarily discussing.”

“Can you tell me how the conversation came about?”

She said, “I think Durant was trying to impress me, but he was... well, we were out on the deck and... he was becoming quite personal... I have been very grateful to Mr. Rankin. I think Durant sensed that and resented it.”